Erik looked down at the calm, social scene from a trapdoor in the ceiling. At the smiling carefree faces of his newest unsuspecting victims.
The commotion of Don Juan Triumphant, and the flight of her had been but two and a half months ago. To the public, it was an exciting scandal that totally encapsulated interest, but quickly died down after new gossip was spread through social circles. To those who had been there and witnessed it, well, not many had returned to the opera. Including her. With determination, he tried to dispel her from his mind.
Now, the opera was yet again transitioning into a different management. Another set of buffoons that wouldn't know how to properly run his opera unless they listened carefully to him, and obeyed his wishes. With light fingers, he felt his face. A false nose had been plastered on, and putty used in theater makeup was smothered on his cheekbones, so as not to look as much as a decaying death's head as he usually did. He was going to make his presence known, Not in a grandiose way. Something subtle that would get under their skin. A physical manifestation of the ghost that could appear and disappear in the blink of an eye.
Armand and Firman sat across the table from the two new buffoons they had found to get the opera off of their hands. On either side of them, older women sat, probably their wives, and next to them younger people whom he supposed were their sons and daughters. There was no open seat next to the managers both old and new where he could slip in. The closest seat was next to Firman's newest ingenue, and across from one of the new manager's daughters, who looked positively bored.
With the flick of a switch, the lights in the room were momentarily doused. Among startled gasps and hushed murmurs, he nimbly dropped down into the room. His contraption only gave him a moment of darkness to find his way and take up his position, but that was more than enough. By the time the lights came back on, he was sitting in his chair, every inch looking as if he had always been there. when vision was restored to the room, jokes were passed around about what kind of state Armand and Firman were leaving the opera house in. Subtly, peering over, Erik could see the faces of the old managers pale. They bantered back with a witty response, but he could see the sweat that was already starting to bead on their brows.
Erik took a moment to lean back in his chair. This subtle approach would take time. First for someone to notice that he was there, and then for the gossip to start. He cast a disinterested gaze across the people in the room. They were all members of high society. Women adorned in shimmering silks and jewels, and men swathed in crisp dress clothes.
He felt a pair of eyes on him. He had expected it to take longer than that to be noticed, and quickly turned to face who it was. The girl that sat across the table was surveying him. Her brown eyes seemed to watch him keenly. Erik knew that the makeup on his face could only hide so much. His body was still unnaturally lean, and his amber eyes dim in the bright room. When she kept staring, he stared back at her. Instead of looking away, she kept her eyes fixated on him. He was starting to become unnerved by her behavior. When caught staring, those in high society would look away, but she continued to study him. When she finally looked away, she looked around the room, as if looking too to see if anyone else had noticed him. When realizing that she was the only one to notice, she looked back at him. He expected her to turn to her neighbor, and to start gossiping about him, but she did nothing of the sort.
He noticed that her hand had crept out of her lap, and now sat on the table. She slowly put it up just a bit, and opened her palm, before moving her hand back and forth. He was puzzled by what she was doing, before realizing what she was doing.
She was waving at him.
Strange girl.
The matronly woman that set next to her turned to look at her daughter. She blanched, at seeing her daughter engage in such a breach of decorum. She quickly swatted the girl's hand down before turning to him, most likely with the intent to apologize to him on her daughter's behalf, before she looked at him. He smirked as his plan began to work. The matron leaned over to get her husband's attention, then he leaned over to get his business partner's attention, and so on and so forth, until the room was buzzing with talk of him. Those new at the table, held both curious and apprehensive expressions, but those who knew him and what he was capable of, balked. Sufficiently happy that the new managers knew of him, and that the old were reminded not to forget about him when showing the rules and memorandum, he made his exist.
With the assistance of another concealed lever, the lights were dimmed again, for longer this time, to both allow him to traverse the short walk to the hidden door, and to add a little more terror. When back safely in his original position, the lights were again restored. He watched as the new managers were escorted out of the room by Armand and Firman, most likely to get all the business out of the way so they could finally be rid of him. The rest of the room was buzzing with freight and excitement at his display. The matron from before was squawking loudly about the questionable morals of Armand and Firman for passing on such an ill run opera house to her husband for him to fix.
Honestly, people were so predictable.
As he got up to leave, his gazed passed once again over the strange girl. Instead of gossiping about him, with others at the table, or agreeing with her mother, she sat silently. He watched as she tried to hold a look of disinterest, but couldn't help but let a smile blossom onto her face.
Strange girl.
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